Make mine a Brazilian

If the title didn’t tip you off, here’s a second warning: stop reading if you’re at all squeamish about that hallowed hallmark of womanhood: The Brazilian Wax.
I used to have a friend who’d routinely book Brazilian appointments for me, while I’d routinely cancel them. She was pro-Braz; I was anti anything that involved wax and/or pain anywhere near my privates. She swore it would change my life. I said I had a year’s worth of Nair to use up. She promised that all guys dug it. I asked my boyfriend at the time who didn’t seem to care either way, and so I continued to live in many years of blissful, depilatoried ignorance, punctuated by the occasional but traumatising pre-holiday bikini wax.
Until yesterday, when I decided it was high time I upgraded from the chicken-out option (bikini wax) to the real deal (The Big B).
It was just past lunch but hoping for some Dutch courage, I guzzled lots of wine before I got there. Arriving at the beautician’s half-cut is never a good look but luckily it’s nothing like a nightclub where there’s a chance they’ll refuse entry if you’re sozzled and resemble a rabbit caught in headlights. In fact, my beautician had obviously endured the tipsy-first-time-Brazilian-victim before and offered to top me up with an extra large glass of sav blanc so I could really get off my face. I could’ve kissed her (but I didn’t, because kissing someone who’s about to brutally rip all the hair out of your nether regions is probably a bit wrong).
Yes folks, it hurts, but not as much as I’d thought. Whether that’s down to the better part of a bottle of wine or my unexpectedly decent pain threshold* I have no idea. Some parts, you’re told to hold your breath, which isn’t a great sign and I admit I resorted to several colourful phrases that would’ve made a nun blush. Looking back though, I was being a total drama queen - even the bad bits only lasted a second and were actually quite bearable. Or perhaps it’s like that new-mother myth**, that the instant you’ve popped out your baby the hours of agony is all but forgotten. After all, I’m already booked in for a maintenance session AND I’m feeling guilty because it turns out my pro-Braz friend was right all along.
Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to christen myself with a porn star name and go admire myself in a mirror.

>>> What’s your take on The Big B? If you’re a girl, is it worth it? And if you’re a guy, does it drive you to distraction, or are you all for a little hair down there?

* Hairy girls do it tough apparently so if you've got a forest, steer clear.
** I may not be a mother yet, but forgetting the pain of childbirth... surely that’s some kind of insider parenting joke?

Movie Sex

So, the SATC movie is upon us. Hallelujah. I’ve just about grown tired of Arena’s Ground Hog Day re-runs, so I’ll be hot-footing it to the cinema to buy a giant bag of Malteasers and see how the Manhattan quartet are faring. But I’m not going to go all Margaret and David on you. I’d like to talk numbers. Yes, that’s right. Statistics. Oooh. Sexy.
Some very interesting stats have come to my attention on the eve of the movie’s release. According to an RSVP poll lovable Aidan with his carpenter skills, rustic wood cabin and shaggy mutt Pete was ranked as the guy single women would most like to date at a whopping 46 percent. No shocker there. Most women think Carrie was a fool not marrying him when she had that gorgeous sparkler hanging around her neck.
And it seems some of us are still partial to an aging commitment phobe. Not-so-reliable Mr Big with his town car and winery in the Napa Valley, came in with 30 percent of the vote. Meanwhile there’s no mention of the dateability of bar hop Steve or MAW [Model, Actor, Whatever] Smith. Although both look pretty fabulous with their shirts off.
In the interest of fairness, the SATC girls were ranked in order of desirability as well. Prim, girl-next-door Charlotte was the most popular choice with 39 percent of votes. It seems sweet, nice girls do finish first. But before you buy a twinset and pearls and start volunteering at your local art gallery, it seems most guys also want a side serve of handcuffs and a topping of whipped cream. Femme fatale Samantha came in second place with 31 percent of the vote. Meanwhile shoe loving scribe Carrie was voted ‘most identifiable.’ Sounds like the wooden spoon prize to me. According to my sources, most men find Carrie about as sexy as an overweight politician in a pair of speedos.
So, now you have the figures, do you agree with the popular voters or do you secretly think Legal Eagle Miranda is actually the sexiest of the lot with her ginger locks and no-nonsense attitude? Or do you lust after the Jewish lawyer with a hairy back, Harry? Or even the cute as a button handbag Sandford Blatch?

*** Let’s hear it – who is your SATC favourite? Who’d you like to shag? Marry?

Brutal honesty?

One of my favourite moments in cinema when Tom Cruise is having problems with his deeply unpleasant girlfriend Avery in Jerry Maguire. Just before she punches him in the nose and unceremoniously dumps him, she reminds him they had a deal in their relationship.
Avery: “Our deal was brutal honesty.”
Jerry: “I think you added the brutal part.”
Avery: “There is a sensitivity thing that some people have. I don't have it. I don't cry at movies, or gush over babies. And I don't tell a man who just screwed up, ‘Oh, poor baby.’”
Ouch. This brings me to my post for this week – brutal honesty in a relationship. Do we really need to be completely, 100 percent truthful with our partners? Or are there some things it’s okay to be a teensy weensy bit untruthful about? I would argue a few white lies are de rigueur in a relationship. For example:
~ Yes, you can go out in public with that haircut.
~ No, you haven’t put on weight over Easter.
~ Yes, that was great sex.
~ No, you can hardly see that zit on your nose.
~ Yes, you can wear that shirt with those pants.
~ No, I don’t mind if we spend this Saturday shopping for wedding invitations.
~ Yes – that gym membership is working for you
~ No, that meatloaf you just cooked wasn’t like eating toxic sludge.
~ Yes, I’d love to come and watch you play sport
~ No, I don’t mind if your mother comes to stay for a week.
Some would argue, if you can’t get the straightforward, down and dirty truth from your partner – then who can you get it from? Others, like Moi, would argue, if your partner can’t make you feel good, even with a haircut from hell and a pimple on your nose, then who can?

*** To lie or not to lie – that’s the question people…

One foot in, one foot out

Crossover cowboys. That’s the term I’ve coined this week for people who don’t bother to finish their current relationship before embarking on a new one. Brazen beyond the pale, smug in the belief there’s no chance of capture and operating by logic inexplicable to anyone but themselves, crossover cowboys are to the dating world what great white sharks are to a beach full of carefree swimmers. Only instead of losing a leg, you’re at risk of losing your heart AND your self-respect.
I met one such cowboy a few years ago. He was Mr Keen, asking for my number quicker than I could say, My what lovely spurs you have – then promptly offering to take me to lunch. After plying me with the better part of a bottle of wine he freely admitted he’d booked a hotel room right near the restaurant because he ‘liked to enjoy weekends away in the city’. The fact that Mr Keen lived a two-minute drive from the CBD should really have been the tip-off but it wasn’t until date three and his refusal to allow me into his flat because it was too messy (translation: I’d rather not introduce you to my girlfriend right now) that I twigged. This dude was a down and dirty ratfink and it was time I beat a hasty retreat.
Much like Max, the guy my friend Eliza met last Friday night. He too, was keen, asking her to have dinner with him the following evening. He texted her the next morning, asking if he could meet her for lunch AND dinner, because, he just, you know, liked her soooooooo much. She smelled a rat and checked out his Facebook page, whereupon friends had left messages like, ‘Hey man, I hear you got your girl an engagement ring – wicked! Any plans for how you’ll pop the question?’
She texted him back with the pithy but appropriate, ‘Will have to pass on dinner Max – maybe sometime when you’re not sort of engaged to be married?’
His panicked reply: ‘I’ve not been happy and thought maybe I could just get to know you and see what happens.’
Translation: Want to be my last hurrah before I tie the knot?
I know, I know. I’m a cynic. But really, these crossover cowboys have it coming. I might launch another blog naming and shaming which should make things interesting on the dating circuit.

*** Ever been a victim of a crossover cowboy? Spill the beans, gang. Naming optional.

The relationship you had to have

A friend of mine is ultra-successful, talented, famous and beautiful. The sort of person who is stopped on the street for autographs and earns $1000 an hour for doing something legal. Anyhoo. Throughout her life, she’s had a string of relationships she’s been completely in charge of. Her boyfriends have loved her utterly and been at her beck and call 24-7. And so, they bored her to tears.
In her early 30s she met Mr X. He was a surgeon, very busy and not particularly interested in her – except as a mildly amusing diversion. Perhaps a story to share with his buddies in the OR. She called him. He didn’t call her back. She flew interstate to surprise him. He had to work for 72 hours straight. She brought him thoughtful gifts. He said, ‘Look, this simply isn’t going to work out.’ He dumped her. She cried.
A few months later she met the man of her dreams. They’re blissfully happy. She doesn’t take him for granted and returns his calls. She wouldn’t dream of standing him up or leaving stiletto marks on his back.
She now describes Mr X as: ‘The relationship I had to have. As unpleasant as it was.’
Mr X taught her a lesson about being on the receiving end of disinterest and made her pull up her socks. He was her boot camp for shaping up for her new relationship. Without Mr X she might still be sitting on a pedestal being adored. She needed to be ignored and dumped to finally realise what she really needed and wanted from her next partner.
So, my question this week is thus. Have you had a relationship that forced you to learn a few home truths? Made you realise what you don’t want in a relationship?
Has a bad, broken relationship, helped you find another, stronger, more healthy love? Let’s hear it people – the relationship you had to have. In 25 words or less...